


Holding on, letting go

by Amazaria



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst of some kind, Gen, I mean. I love them with all my heart but you don't have to care about them, In which ship spirits don't conform to the gender binary because why the hell would they, Klabautermann, Legacies, Melancholy and other bittersweet feelings, OCs that really don't matter that much, Post-Canon, Post-Enies Lobby and one (1) assorted spoiler, The author's insistent feelings about legacies, ambiguous beginning, ambiguous ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23228728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amazaria/pseuds/Amazaria
Summary: On a hidden island, an uncountably many years later, someone finds the ghost of a dream that came true.And then goes.And then comes back.(or: in which treasures don't always stay hidden, history repeats itself, never quite the same but never that different, and ships can't die, not exactly.)
Relationships: Mugiwara Kaizoku | Strawhat Pirates & Thousand Sunny
Comments: 21
Kudos: 72





	1. watch (wait)

Sunny misses them.

It's been- it's been so very long. They're all gone, probably. They have to- if they were alive, they wouldn't have left its body rot, wouldn't have let its keel crack and its figurehead's colors fade, wouldn't- wouldn't have left Sunny alone.

So they're probably dead.

(Then why is Sunny alive?

What purpose does it have if its crew is dead?)

Sunny misses them; misses the sound of laughter, the melodies in the evening, the sound of the waves and the stars and moon shining brightly above.

Sunny misses freedom, and happiness, and- waits.

(Waits for what?)

oOo

Here is how it goes: one day, there is a boy in front of Sunny, and that's not right, because Sunny's home is (gone-) Raftel, and Raftel is a secret even its captain had managed to keep.

The boy- it really is a boy, not even seven years old- has blood under his fingernails, and he looks scared. Sunny wouldn't care for it, but its navigator and its helmsman had both loved children, so it watches the boy's movements.

"Whoooooa," he whispers, staring at Sunny's body, and he reminds Sunny so much of its _captaindoctorsniper_ when he does that-

Sunny watches.

(There's little else it can do.)

"Whoooooa," whispers the boy again, and he reaches to touch the dry wood of Sunny's body. It feels- foreign. Not as distinct as their touch was. Not as meaningful, not as-

Sunny closes its eyes, and its mind, and its awareness; and only comes back once the door to the kitchen opens.

The boy puts his hand on the table, full of dust that its cook would never have left a chance to settle had he been there. He giggles at the print he leaves on the untouched surface; grows bored, runs to the library; marvels at the long-since empty aquarium, does not spare a glance to all the books its archeologist had treasured so much.

Grows bored again; hesitantly peers at its shipwright and sniper's workshop, full of dangerous inventions and untouched memories, that Sunny keeps there like a secret it'll never get to whisper to anyone; leaves the door open and runs to the slide. Tries it, but it's been years -or maybe decades, or maybe centuries; Sunny is made of Adam wood, after all- since it was last cleaned, and it doesn't work as well as it used to.

The boy doesn't seem to care, or if he does he brushes it aside. He runs -still running, always running, a mix of genuine excitement and permanent fear- to the plants its musician would sing songs to, marvels at the enormous flowers that still grow, even after years of emptiness.

(It was important to its doctor, and its cook, and its archeologist; and since it was important to part of them it was important to all of them, and Sunny doesn't know why it's still here but maybe that's part of the reason.)

"Ooooh, they're really pretty," the boy whispers. And he reaches out, plucks a soft purple flower, clutches it in his hands and runs in the grove of tangerine trees Sunny has dedicated most of its energy keeping alive. He lays down in the middle of the leaves, like its swordsman used to do; but it must be uncomfortable, all the dead leaves and snapped twigs its navigator isn't there to take care of anymore digging into his back, because he gets up after a little while, and continues his exploration.

Instead of going into the crew's quarters -that are empty and locked and full of so many precious things Sunny is sure it would prefer to drown than let anyone touch them-, he crosses the deck again, the unusually bright grass softening the sound of his footsteps. He plays a little with the wheel, as old and broken as it is; the touch is just a little too close to its helmsman's, and Sunny withdraws again.

Until a voice tears it away from its sleep.

"Where are you? Tetri, where are you?" Asks a worried voice belonging to what seems to be a ten-year-old, holding herself as if she's terrified and daring the world to make her show it.

"Bell!," answers the boy, his eyes alight with excitement and practically bouncing on his toes. "Bell, this ship is so cool, it's so cool, I think it was a pirate's ship!"

Bell frowns from her spot on the beach, dirty toes digging into the soft sand absent-mindedly. "Pirates are dangerous," she says, worried and certain and fearful.

"I don't think those were, though! I think they were fun pirates, Bell!" Retorts the boy happily, easily.

"I don't think those exist, you know," she answers, fond but still undeniably wary; but the boy just grins-

(And _oh,_ thinks Sunny.)

-the boy just grins, brighter than the sun, brighter than the stars, brighter than the moon and the sun and all the stars combined together, all reflecting on the sea on a particularly cloudless day; and he digs his feet into the floor, swings his arms around, as if he is on a tightrope and testing his balance; and he says: "I'm going to be a fun pirate, too! And then you'll see!"

And he launches himself on the rail its sniper used to fish on, almost falls over, regains his balance; laughs brightly, delighted by the obvious worry on Bell's face; and he says:

"And look, I found a really cool hat!"


	2. wait (go)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Trees grow, flowers bloom, and Sunny waits."

Sunny isn't exactly lonely. 

It probably is lonely sometimes- if only because it thinks its crew had been, once, and Sunny will always be a mix of everything its crew had been and would be.

But Sunny isn't exactly lonely. Trees grow and flowers bloom. Waves lull it to sleep, over and over and over again, and Sunny isn't lonely, not exactly. 

The sun rises, still. The stars guide a way, still, and Sunny hasn't moved for months and years and maybe centuries, but the wind is the same as it was. The island isn't the same as it was, because islands change much more quickly than the ocean, but it is similar, and Sunny's quite content with that. Everything is fine; everything is done; everything ended, and maybe they'll never end, too. Trees grow and flowers bloom, ever and ever and ever. 

So Sunny isn't lonely, except it is, fundamentally. It's always been and it'll never be lonely again, except they all left-

But Sunny isn't lonely, not exactly. And it's not sad, not exactly, except in the way it has always been sad; and it's not grieving, exactly, except in the way it can still see Merry burning. Except in the way it can still feel each one of its crew freefalling, one after another, freefalling and out of control and dragging a plea for help out of their lungs that its captain had always heard, no matter how faint-

So Sunny isn't lonely, and isn't sad, and isn't grieving, not exactly. Sunny's- waiting. 

There's nothing to wait for anymore. That doesn't mean it's not waiting. That doesn't mean it's not worth waiting. 

Trees grow, and flowers bloom, and Sunny waits.

oOo

And then one day- 

A laugh.

"Look, Bell," says a voice. Sunny thinks it might matter, but nothing has mattered since its crew went, except tangerine trees and flowerbeds. 

"Look, it hasn't changed at all!" 

"Yes it did," answers a voice, quietly fond, extraordinarily happy, radiant and defiant and just a little too much like Sunny thinks its crew used to be. "It aged, look. It's a shame, but I guess even Adam wood can't last infinitely. I'm already surprised it lasted that long." 

"Of course it did! Its crew loved it, after all. They took good care of it!" 

They must have, thinks Sunny, uncertain: the memories are fuzzy and it started forgetting to hang onto them a day or a week or a decade ago. 

The second voice, again, saddened that time. "They did. I wonder, why they left it alone, then?"

And Sunny isn't lonely. Trees grow and flowers bloom, after all.

A silence. The sound of someone clutching onto something, a gift or a promise or a legacy. "I'm glad they did, though. I wouldn't have found this, if they hadn't!" 

"You would have found something else, I'm sure," says the second voice, fond, fond, fond. 

"Well, yeah. But it wouldn't have been the same." 

Footsteps in what might be sand. Movement in what might be water. Presence on what might be Sunny. 

"The trees still grow," breathes the second voice. 

"Of course they do. They must have been precious, I think." 

"It's a miracle they weren't destroyed by storms." 

"Not a miracle. It wasn't luck, I don't think. Oh, the flowers are still here, too!" 

"Well that's definitely a miracle." 

"No it's not, Bell!"  
"Hurry up. We don't have all day." 

"We do! We have all the days we can bear having. We're free, Bell!" 

A silence.

"Yeah, we are, aren't we?" Says the second voice, softly; filled with wonder, and pride, and something else that Sunny must have been familiar with, long ago.

A smile. Sunny can't see, not anymore, but the smile is so loud it can be heard; so warm it can be felt; so significant, so similar to something that must have meant something, once-

(Maybe, thinks Sunny, it had been waiting to forget.) 

Its wheel moves. Straw on wood. Trees grow and flowers bloom. 

"Here," says the voice, gentle and solemn and a little sad, maybe, though Sunny can't quite know why and can't quite bring itself to care, not anymore. "I took this from you once ago. I don't think I stole it, but I don't think you gave it to me, either."

No, thinks Sunny, it did not. Maybe it did. But the weight is comfortable and familiar and Sunny can't sleep, not exactly; and Sunny can't die, not exactly. Trees grow and flowers bloom. 

"Thank you for lending it to me. I took good care of it, I promise. And now I'm giving it back, and I'm happy. And I'm a pirate. Okay?"

(Maybe, thinks Sunny, it had been waiting for a promise to be kept, for a dream to be fulfilled. Just one last time, while trees grow and flower bloom.)  
"And I think I'll get going, now, and your island will be your secret once again, so I know you'll be fine."

And Sunny isn't lonely, exactly. Trees grow and flower bloom.

Movement on what might be Sunny, then nothing; no sound, no presence, just the lull of the waves, the brush of the wind, a memory of a laugh, promises fulfilled and dreams made reality.

(And Sunny isn't there, not exactly, not anymore.

Except maybe it is. 

Trees grow and flowers bloom, ever and ever and ever.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Léna 13/04/2019  
> Except for the obvious answer, how do Klabautermann die?  
> [23:31]  
> If their crew die but the ship in itself is okay, do they continue living? Or do they just sort of... fade away?  
> [23:32]  
> Can a Klabautermann outlive its crew?
> 
> 🌾13/04/2019  
> I'd assume they fade eventually but also.... They're born of the love a ship is given, so once they're alive they're probably alive till the ship itself dies
> 
> Léna 13/04/2019  
> Hmmm  
> [23:33]  
> That's really sad  
> [23:35]  
> Would that mean that once the Strawhats die (they'll have to eventually), Sunny would be left alone?


End file.
